The Burning Of The Prowler
by The Lobster's Claw
Summary: My misc.crossover of the slasher films, The Burning and The Prowler. A new Prowler has risen and is preparing for a night of revenge, but Cropsy just happens to cross his path after actually surviving. And that's when it starts. Had not be updated for several months out of respect for the Colorado Massacre victims.
1. Chapter 1

_**Alright, so this story is a of some under-appreciated 80's slashers. The main ones are The Prowler and The Burning, but if you read carefully and know your slashers, you should be able to find some more in here. This story is mostly dedicated to hardrocker21, who I had asked if I could do the story, as well as Joe Spinell, the late actor who had starred in The Godfather, The Godfather II, Taxi Driver, and the slasher Maniac.**_

The Burning Of The Prowler

Chapter 1

Never again would they hold the Graduation Dances. They had done it once again and defied him, and this was the result. Sheriff Fraser had been killed, and many others who had lived in the town oh so dearly. Yes, he had made them pay for holding the dances again, and now he was ready to come out of retirement. The original Prowler, the one who had killed the two lovers before, was ready for one final job.

Clothed in WWII army fatigues and having a cloth tightly pulled over his face with a helmet on top, he held the pitchfork and was ready to kill the survivors, so as to make sure the Graduation Dances would never ever be held again. The young ones had a knack to forget the past, and now, they had been doomed to repeat it. Best if there was no one to repeat it, he thought.

Silently, in the dead of midnight, he crept out of the house and walked down the sidewalk, his bayonet carefully closing down and slitting the power lines in half. No one would get out alive, whatsoever...

_-POV change-_

Cropsy stumbled down the barren road, moving as if though he was drunk, which he had been when at the camp. The axe wound was still deep in he head, his bust skull throbbing with pain of the worst type, and his coat was burnt and his glasses and hat gone, leaving his face visible to the world, and he imagined the world was laughing.

Suddenly, he lifted his head and saw several lights and what appeared to be houses, and he knew he was coming to a neighborhood.

He sped up, his legs coming back to life, _real _life, as he crept onto a sidewalk, and he shivered as the wind stung his bare shoulders and sleeveless arms, the burns worsening as the cold scorched him.

The pain in his head got to him, and he couldn't take it anymore. He knelt over and vomited onto the lawn, his throat clenching as he spewed forth the bile.

He wiped his mouth with his bare arm, and looked upon a mailbox. He picked up a wrinkled newspaper, and read a headline of an escaped mental patient named Marty Rantzen. Apparently, he had half his face burnt off by an acidic school prank years ago, and the boy had killed a nurse and a doctor before breaking out. He had also apparently, although still it was unconfirmed, that Rantzen had killed a costume shop owner and taken a mask of an old man's face and jester hat.

_Stupid boy_, Cropsy thought. The Rantzen kid was acting like a whiny teen high on hormones, wanting revenge on bullies, and trying to be his own Superman.

Cropsy, on the other hand, needed revenge. It was like cocaine to him:he knew it was bad, but he didn't give a damn, as long as it made him feel good. What the kids had done to him was uncalled for. And whoever tried to stop his addiction would only end up apart of it.

He walked further down the sidewalk, the trimmers kept tucked into his belt, just in case. He had no idea where he was going, and didn't even know he was out of New York and in New Jersey. All he knew now was that he needed to find the survivors and give them a good reckoning for what they did.

Then, he stopped upon a strange sight:a man was bending over and cutting power lines, and the lights in the houses were going out. He was also carrying a huge pitchfork, but the man's appearance was extremely difficult to make out in the vastly growing darkness.

Cropsy couldn't talk to the man and ask him what he was doing, as the burn and the failed transplants on his face left him unable to do so. The man's head, however, was turned, and so he couldn't see Cropsy. It was the best time to act.

The burnt man walked forward, very silently, and grabbed the man by his neck and wrapped his fingers around the man's throat. The man suddenly stood up straight, and his broad shoulders stretched out, showing his full body and dwarfing Cropsy in size. The man turned around and swiftly grabbed Cropsy by his arm and threw him off, and the burnt man was sent flying off and into a mailbox, which broke under his weight.

The Prowler knew the little bastard wasn't dead yet, though, so he decided to walk straight over and stamp his foot on his throat, as he was wearing military boots, no less.

As soon as The prowler came over, though, the burnt man took out a blade and jammed it into the prowler's side. Then, his pain increased, as The Prowler felt his wound expanding, and he just somehow _knew _it was a pair of hedge trimmers. The prowler, then swiftly kicked the man away, and he was sent a bit into the air before landing on a fire hydrant.

Ripping the trimmers out, The Prowler threw them at the man. However, it merely made a dull metallic crash, and not the blood splattering _squelch _The Prowler wanted to hear.

Then, he felt a new pain in his back, and he fell forward. The burnt man then stamped his foot not once, not twice, but three times into the man torso. The Prowler grabbed his stomach as he tried to gain back air, but he then felt the man grab his legs. He dragged him on the cracked pavement for a little while before The Prowler felt himself go up.

The burnt man had thrown The Prowler, and he felt himself spin a bit before he got stuck on several branches.

His hood had fallen, showing The Prowler's face, and his helmet was left behind when the burnt man had started dragging him. He then heard a crack as he felt the branches break and he dropped onto the lawn.

The burnt man walked over, but before he could get close, The Prowler had already put his hood back on.

He then showed no mercy as he picked up one of the branches and smacked the burnt man on the head with it.

The Prowler whipped the man's face with the branch, before he clubbed his back with it.

Suddenly, the man lashed out with his trimmers and sliced the blunt part of the branch off, and it was rendered useless.

He kicked The Prowler in the shin, and The Prowler fell as he grabbed at it. The burnt man had him at his very mercy.

_**So, there it is. Mind you, this will be a story of mine that will lead to a much larger sequel story that I will not announce yet. And sorry this was in development hell for so long. I had a few other stories to do, and this one just now crossed my mind again. R&R.**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Okay, so, chapter 2 is here after a long thought-process. To be honest, I just came up with an idea, so don't be surprised if this story seems like something out of the brain of Michael Bay. So, with all that said, here comes chap.2.**_

_**P.S.**_

_**More reviews are good for the soul. NOW REVIEW.**_

Cropsy was _sure _he was going to kill that overgrown retard wearing some dumbass rag over his face was knocked down and Cropsy had his shears on him. But then he just _had _to kick him in the groin, and Cropsy was knocked into a patch of bushes.

The large man promptly strided into the street, put his helmet back on, and then walked over and slammed what looked like a pitchfork into Cropsy's torso.

Cropsy didn't think it was fair. How could he hurt Cropsy yet this man just wouldn't stay down? In Cropsy's eyes, the fight needed to be fair only if this man got killed and Cropsy didn't get hurt at all.

Once the pitchfork was removed and the man believed he was dead, Cropsy opened his eyes and uprooted a mailbox before breaking it on the man's neck. With a stomach-churning and satisfying _SNAP_, the man fell to the ground. He squirmed for a few more seconds before he suddenly ended motionless.

Cropsy heaved a sigh of relief, and he dragged the man's body to a gutter right below the curb. He slid his body into the sewer entrance, and he actually smirked once he heard that satisfying _SPLASH_. Cropsy had not made a noise from his mouth ever since he had been burned. And with his victim finally disposed of in such a manner as to be sure no one would know, Crospy limped onward through the street.

Cropsy continued for a good while before stopping to rest in front of the park. Taking a seat on the bench, he unfurled a newspaper left on the bench. Deciding to relax here for the night, he opened the newspaper and read an article about several gruesome murders at a special youth camp, and one of the surviving campers rambling about how a man named Marz had killed them. It was pure lunacy to be sure, Cropsy thought, and he knew that the youth was simply driven insane by seeing all his pretty little friends get chopped up. That was how life went, he thought.

_-POV change-_

The Prowler woke to find himself floating in a a dark and disgusting stream of...well, _something_. The place was walled in and ominous, and then it him-that ugly bastard had thrown him into a sewer. _Well this is just great_, he thought.

Then, he heard it. It was quite faint, but it grew louder as he moved forward. _Rats_. He hated _rats_. He hated them more than those youths who had started the Graduation Dances again, more than that burnt asshole of a psycho who threw him in here, and he was now _surrounded _by them. His life just sucked.

He wished they would just pass and go, leaving him alone with himself, but they didn't. And the worst part was, they did not even come out toward him. They just stayed and kept scurrying around, scratching and squealing. It was like they were ding it just to play with his sanity, and they were laughing at him.

He slowly started trudging through the mess of waste and tangled pipes, trying to block out the noise of the rats, but they stayed. They did not want to stop, cause they liked bullying him, and they enjoyed watching him squirm as he walked, and laughed as he looked behind his shoulder to see nothing.

He couldn't take it. He pulled out his sawn-off and fired, and hit a pipe. The water gushed out and sprayed him, and that just seemed to make the rats more gleeful.

He decided to shoot the wall this time, and it was torn to shreds as he fired. The squealing of the rats got quieter, but he did not take any chances. He blew apart another pipe that shot at the opposite wall, and several rats actually got scattered by the waterworks. He actually laughed as this happened, and he fired several times more at that wall, and he giggled as the rats got blown up and splattered over him.

Soon, they learned and they stopped scurrying.

He moved onward, and the light got brighter as it peered through his cloth hood. He liked to think it was because he was going to heaven because of the good things he had had to do in life, but he was not certain. However, if that burnt little bastard was waiting at the end of the light, he wouldn't be very happy.

He lifted his cloth, and saw that the light was glaring through a little gate in the sewer. He looked behind him once more, and with that, he turned back around and opened the gate and walked out.

He found himself in the middle of nowhere, and on a dusty road. There was nothing but grass as far as the eye could see, and The Prowler decided it was better than having to deal with that burnt man again. Perhaps he could just settle here, but what good would that be? The middle of nowhere was obviously boring as hell, and his nearest neighbor could be a mile or more away.

Maybe he could find someone and ask for directions to somewhere more civilized, but once again, that could take a good while.

In the end, he just decided to walk onward and see what would happen. It was no fun, but it was better than dealing with that stupid burnt man.

The Prowler walked on for what appeared to be two straight miles before he found a sign saying, in giant black letters, "Convenience Store-5 miles straight ahead", at the top. He had to keep walking, yes, but he had at least found somewhere where he could take a rest. He would find out he would need it.

_**Okay, so not much in the way of action, but it expands on character depth, and we finally get to see The Prowler here as a person and not just some hulking psycho. So, anyways, R&R and I hope you enjoyed it.**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Alright, so after a pretty short hiatus, chapter 3 for TBOTP has come. Mind you, The Prowler will take his face-hiding cloth off and there will be a generally gory description here. So, with all being said, here is chapter 3.**_

The Prowler walked for what appeared to be 3 hours, as walking for five miles on foot with no stop was a slaughter to the feet, yet a sure way to actually get where you wanted. Granted, 3 hours without a damn single piss was torture for the bladder, but The Prowler had greater worries than pissing himself.

He finally came to his destination-the convenience store. It looked a lot more like a gas station to him, but if this was the place, then he didn't have to worry. He had found what he was looking for, just as what that burnt little man had gotten that ass-kicking he had asked for when he tried to break The Prowler's neck.

Realizing how stupid he would look for wearing a rag over his face and a 70-year old helmet on him, he saw it would be much better to just show his face, 'cause if that little man had followed him, it would be best to make himself look like an average guy, and not a masked psycho carrying a pitchfork and wearing a thick army jacket in this weather.

He peered inside the store. Nobody seemed to be in there at all, and not even a single damn bird seemed to come by this place. Strange, but perhaps he could break in and benefit himself rather than force himself to follow the rules of a free market and have to pay.

The Prowler walked over to the restroom on the side of the store, and he slowly opened the door. The place smelled and looked like crap, just as he came to expect from gas station and convenience store pit-stops, and there was a tight opening on the right side of the floor that was closed by a sewage-like covering. Perfect.

Ripping the covering free from its chain and locks, he placed his pitchfork, jacket, helmet and cloth in the opening before he placed the covering back in its place. The Prowler looked into the mirror and almost did not recognize himself, before he grinned. The perfect disguise was to not even have one.

Coming out of the restroom, The Prowler looked around before he came up to the entryway door. Peering inside one more time, he could there was still no one inside. _Strange_, was all he could think as the bell ringed once he pushed open the door.

He took a look around the place. The only place to hide was by exiting through the exit-way door, and he peered over the counter and yet no one was there.

Realizing he was going to start hallucinating if he did not get some hydration, he walked over to the fridge and took out a bottle of water and opened it before he chugged the whole thing down in around 3 seconds.

Taking a gasp for breath and wiping his mouth with his sleeve, The Prowler turned around and was going to go get something from the frozen food section and saw a rasping man blocking his way. He wore a red T-Shirt and red cap, and he had a crammed posture, and his face appeared withered and torn.

"You the guy who runs this place?", The Prowler asked as he pondered how familiar the man appeared.

The man merely nodded as he sucked his tongue on his lower lip, and he eyed The Prowler eerily, as if though he also was wondering where he had seen him before.

"We've met before-haven't we?", The Prowler wondered as he walked to the frozen food section, and the man just shook his head, not uttering a single word as he walked to back behind the counter, where he shifted his focus to the window peering outside over the grassland and dirt road. There was something bizarre about him that The Prowler just couldn't place his finger on.

Taking a roast out of the fridge, he moved to the counter, but then remembered he had no money on him. He stood there uncomfortably, feeling somewhat embarrassed, yet the man still stood there behind the counter impassively, staring out the window.

Wanting to make it seem like he had just placed the food there to put down some extra weight, The Prowler moved over to the newspaper bill-out, which had a door that could be pulled up and rolled out one newspaper bundle per opening.

But The Prowler had gotten more than just a newspaper. Once he had pulled up the door, a crushed body spilled out, its head appearing to be twisted to the point of a broken neck, and as he unfurled the corpse, he looked at the full bloodshed.

The mans body appeared to be young, were it not for the creases received from being bent and crumpled into a tight ball. Several of his bones were sticking out from the pressure, and some of his fingers were sliced off, open red stumps still shooting blood like fountains, and his arms and hands were bruised.

Both of his eyes were gouged out, and the blood running from them was indistinguishable from the fact that his whole face appeared to be ripped off, and his torso and head were bare.

The Prowler reeled back from the sight, the newspaper he had gotten stained red. Suddenly, he felt something going into his back, and not only was it sharp, it retched into both sides of his back.

Spinning around, The Prowler howled in pain as he threw his fist into the attackers jaw, and found he was hitting that burnt man, and his hedge trimmers flew from his hands. Looking down, he saw a severed, eyeless face, and a red hat and shirt.

The man was quick to get up, and as he jumped, he landed a double kick on The Prowlers chest, and he was thrown into the newspaper bill-out.

Still in pain from the hedge trimmers, The prowler was helpless as the man stomped his foot down onto his stomach before he raised his trimmers over The Prowlers throat.

He had just remembered something-he still had his bayonet attached to his sawn-off shotgun. The Prowler simply waited as the man was about to shove his trimmers into him.

As the man plunged them down, The Prowler whipped his sawn-off out of his belt and fired into the burnt mans chest. Blood splattered over the ceiling and floor as the man was sent flying back and through the glass exit-way door.

The Prowler grinned to himself as he struggled up. The man had truly made a spectacular exit.

As he went outside, he went back into the restroom, took a soothing piss, washed his hands, and took his stuff back out of the opening. Putting his jacket, helmet, and cloth on, he made his way out and got back to walking on the dirt road.

Nobody could possibly survive that shot. It looked his job had finally been done.

_-POV change-_

Seething with rage, Cropsy looked down at the still smoking bullet hole on his chest, and all the blood inside the convenience store. Walking in and picking up his hedge trimmers, he walked back out and looked back at that huge man wearing the military fatigues. Realizing that he was always alert, Cropsy looked back down at the bullet hole, and then back at that huge man.

The guy probably thought that that shot would be an instant kill, and so he wasn't alert anymore.

It would be pretty easy now, with that, to kill him right now, but he had to wait. He would follow the man, and he would strike later, to build time now that he wasn't so alert any longer.

Were it not for the nature of his burns, Cropsy would have smiled.

_**So, you might be wondering after this particular brutal scene:just how much crap can Cropsy take? Well, it's a slasher film crossover, so that isn't gonna be answered! You might have also noticed that there was no slasher movie reference here, and that's because they are in the middle of nowhere, and there is nothing in the middle of nowhere, so no random newspaper is gonna fly by with a Jason headline on it. Anyways, R&R...and do it now, because I am watching you, always watching...**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Alright, so this story has not been uploaded for a while due to a medical issue(I'm not gonna tell you what) and out of respect for the Colorado Massacre victims, since everyone is now gonna be blaming violent media for the killings(which is idiotic). And I've finally taken tips from my only other reviewer, Swimming320, and I'm gonna make it so it's not only Cropsy and The Prowler killing each other. No, that does not mean more slashers coming into this story, but it means there will be a body-count. So, with that all being said, here's the actual chapter.**_

The Burning Of The Prowler

Chapter 4

The Prowler had gone for several dozen miles with no sleep, eating, or urination, or for that matter any kind of rest.

That is, until a local cab driver had spotted him and stopped.

The Prowler opened the left passenger door, and squeezed in. The cab was not very large. The driver resumed to his business before he abruptly stopped.

He looked back at him, and started to ask, "Say, can I get your destin-", but with one look at The Prowler's costumed appearance, as well as the fact he was carrying a pitchfork in his hands, the man opened his mouth to say something. Probably for The Prowler to get the hell out.

At that precise moment, he turned his pitchfork and shoved it through the driver's seat, and the pitchfork spikes came out of the drivers torso. Some blood splattered onto the inside windshield and dashboard, and the driver still stared at The Prowler for a little while before his eyes shut, and he twitched and flailed until The Prowler gave a good hard jerk on the pitchfork, and the driver finally laid still for good.

He stepped out of the cab and tossed the drivers corpse onto the back seat, before he casually stepped into the driver's seat, closed the door, and sped ahead. The speed limit was 30 miles per hour, but no one else was on the road.

He looked to his right, and saw the sign that said, _Valentine Bluffs-2.5 Miles Ahead_.

_-POV change-_

Cropsy had seen The Prowler kill the cab driver before driving away in it himself. He could have killed the man himself right there, but he was too far away in the bushes, watching, and he would be gone by the time Cropsy got to where the cab was.

So, Cropsy decided to follow. At first, it had been easy tailing The Prowler in his car(the bitch didn't even drive that fast) but The Prowler soon drove past a corner, and despite Cropsy's best efforts, he had lost him. It was as if though the cab had just vanished into thin air.

But Cropsy was not one to easily give up. So, he saw a nearby gas station and found a car in the back lot, and saw the man get inside. The engine soon turned on.

He then walked up to the driver's window, and tapped the glass. He saw the driver look up, and saw his expression change to a look of ghastly horror as he took a good look at Cropsy's burnt and twisted face. The man stepped out of his car, and he quickly pulled out his phone, but his car was left on, and the door was open.

"Holy shit,sir! Are you alright? Do you need to go see a doctor or something?!", the man exclaimed as he dialed the phone.

It was just too bad for the man that he didn't see the hedge trimmers plunge straight into his stomach, before they came out his back. He looked up at Cropsy, dropping the phone as he gasped for air, blood gushing out as Cropsy jerked the trimmers higher toward his chest, raising the man off his feet with them.

He ripped the trimmers out and closed them, blood splashing over the ground and car windows. Cropsy put them back in his belt and got inside the still-running car, slamming the door shut before backing out and speeding away.

Cropsy's head throbbed for a second, but then the pain vanished.

_-POV change-_

Elliot Ray stopped trying to cut the overgrown pine down. Something seemed wrong. Something seemed out of _place_. He had thought he had heard something step on the shrub he had just uprooted.

"Hey, what the hell'd you quit cuttin' the tree down for?!", his boss barked at him as he stepped out of the clearing.

"Sir, I think I just heard something step on that shrub I just took out", Elliot replied as he pointed at the plant. "Was it you?"

"You know, Elliot, that I was over there near the entrance to the mine. I was nowhere near that thing you uprooted!", the boss said, and suddenly, a look of fear overtook both his and Elliot's faces.

The fear on Elliot's face was for a different reason, however.

It was because he saw the large man with a pitchfork standing just behind his boss.

_-POV change-_

Following The Prowler had been easier than Cropsy thought, and within a few minutes, he was closing in on the mine that the sign had directed him to.

He knew that was where The Prowler was going. For what, he didn't know, but he would surprise him there.

And then, he would dish the ultimate payback because he felt like it.

Cropsy's head throbbed again, this time a bit longer, but it soon subsided.

_-POV change-_

It wasn't very hard for The Prowler to finish off the two workers. They didn't put up much of a fight, and had barely made a noise before The Prowler picked them off. It was the only way to get into the mine.

As he ripped his pitchfork out of the face of the man named Elliot, he saw his boss was still flinching on the ground. He couldn't have something like that as a distraction.

The Prowler took his sawn-off shotgun out, before he slipped off the bayonet and shoved it through the mans ear, and let it exit through his left ear, the blood still warm and sweat-like as it stuck to the bayonet. The Prowler wiped the bayonet clean on Elliot's shirt.

_-POV change-_

It was getting dark as Cropsy looked out the window, yet all he could see was brush. There was no sign of any mine. Perhaps it had been moved, and it was an old directory sign. Perhaps he had somehow gotten lost, or misread the directions. This was all racing through his head as he listened to the radio.

"Reports of six murders at Silver Falls State Park in Oregon, committed by t-"

At that point, static blurred out most of what the reporter was saying, and it unnerved Cropsy. He turned the radio off.

As he drove on, he though he had heard something. He thought it was nothing, but then heard what sounded like a whimper. At first, Cropsy thought something was wrong with the car, but then he stoped, and he heard it again.

He looked out, and saw a huge shadow standing in the bushes, several dozen feet ahead.

Cropsy knew who it was. How could he forget?

His head throbbed, this time threatening to burst, yet it suddenly stopped just as soon as it had started.

_-POV change-_

The Prowler was getting ready to walk away and off into the mine, when he heard a loud honk from a nearby car. He turned his head to see what was going on. There couldn't have been any cars here.

The burnt man was sticking his head out of the window.

_**Okay, sorry for the ultra-long wait. However, I'm back in school, and am now in 9th grade. Plus, after the Colorado shooting, I decided to put the story on hiatus out of respect for the victims. Now, for some thanks:**_

_**hardrocker21:for keeping interest in this story even before it began, with interest only a hardcore slasher fan would keep.**_

_**Swimming320:for checking this story out and giving tips as to make sure the interest won't die.**_

_** .7374:for favoriting, following, and checking this story out.**_

_**So, there you go. R&R!**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Now, in the treacherous mines of Valentine Bluffs, the Butcher of Blackfoot(Crospy) and the Avalon Bay Ripper(The Prowler) shall fight their final battle. If one of them even slightly falters, there won't be a second chance. But there is a third figure. An ominous one-an individual who wants both of them out of his mines-dead or alive. And so begins, chapter 5 of The Burning Of The Prowler...**_

The Burning Of The Prowler

Chapter 5

"Come on, Trev, why the hell won't you help me?!," Gordon Fisherman vehemently asked his friend.

"You know what happened 5 years ago, Gordon! All those nine people-all butchered when they held the Valentine's Day party and went into the mines! And 20 years prior to even that, Harry Warden killed two people and cut out their _hearts! _You positive you want a repeat of that?," Trev snarlingly asked Gordon.

"But we're not even gonna be going into the mines! And plus, Valentine's Day is only 3 days from now!," Gordon whined in protested. He pointed to the old, tattered calendar barely clinging to the chestnut wall.

"That doesn't matter! We can't hold another Valentine's dance or party! Harry Warden will-!"

"_Harry Warden _is fucking dead!," Gordon roared before Trev could finish. "I'm sure that psycho who killed those people 5 years ago has also been so demented, he wandered his ass out of Valentine Bluffs a long time ago-," Gordon was saying, but both he and Trev froze.

"You heard that?," Gordon whispered, and Trev only slightly nodded as his face went pale.

"It sounded like somebody was coming up the stairs-," Trev was meekly rasping, but he never finished. A hulking, burly figure, holding in his hands a pickaxe, kicked the door straight off its hinges, and he stomped in. He had a headlight atop his rusted helmet, and his eyes were hidden by large, square shaped mining goggles. He breathed heavily and menacingly, mostly due to the gas mask he was wearing.

"Hey man, I know you wanna give us a good local scare on Valentine's Day, but you're gonna have to wait until Halloween to be really scary as Harry Warden!," Gordon laughed, pointing at the man.

Yet there was nothing amusing about this. The man glared at Gordon, before he stomped forward, raising his pickaxe, and swung it downward, cleaving through much of Gordon's face, head, and throat. Blood splashed onto the mans outfit, and covered much of his left goggle.

"_Shit! Holy shi-!_," Trev yelled, but the man took a swing at him. It was through sheer luck and reaction time that Trev ducked and the man missed. Snorting, the man took advantage of the short amount of time Trev was still ducking, with his head bent and much of his back exposed.

The pickaxe plunged, and tore into the upper right side of Trev's back, nastily grinding through and coming out through his right shoulder.

Screaming, he pulled himself off the pickaxe, tearing open his shoulder in the process, and attempted to crawl away. Trev's mouth filled with blood as he weakly grasped the floor and made an effort to crawl himself to safety.

It was useless. The man realized what was going on, and he stepped on Trev's back, halting him and causing him to scream again. Lifting his pickaxe, the man heaved for a second or two before striking it down and into Trev's head. It came out through his face, and blood sprayed all over the floor.

Breathing heavily once more, the man tore the pickaxe free from Trev's corpse, and he wiped the blood off on his left glove. He turned around and examined Gordon's body, ready to bend down and find a way to hide it, when a prick came up his neck.

He knew what it meant.

Of course, he wasn't sure, but The Miner knew that prick almost never lied.

There was somebody in the mines.

And he wouldn't take that bullshit. Not one bit.

Rising, The Miner took one final glance at the two bodies, and stormed out of the room.

The people could find the bodies, for all he cared. He just wanted to see what the hell was going down in his mines.

_-POV change-_

The Prowler felt his breath go from his lungs when he was thrown through the wooden planks boarding up the entrance to the mines. He felt one of the splinters rip into the back of his neck and arms, and he knew blood had already been splattered on the walls of the mines.

He crashed into the adjacent wood barricade which closed off the west wing of the mine. He felt a bruise forming on the back of his head, and slowly moving his hand up, he touched the back of his neck. He felt blood beginning to ooze from the cut.

The Prowler saw the burnt man coming straight toward him, ready to skewer him on his hedge trimmers. He tried to pick himself up, but even with so much of his will, he couldn't stop the crushed particles of wood and igneous rock from making him slip. Stretching his hands out, he just barley grasped the pipe sticking from the wall, which saved him from his head falling on the sharper and larger rubble.

That was when the gut churning, burning pain shot through his right side. Looking up, he saw the burned man pressing his trimmers deeper and deeper into his side, until The Prowler just knew they would soon come out from his left side. Lifting his right arm with all his strength, he grabbed the man by his trimmers and slightly pulled him forwards, before he began lifting him in the air. Not hesitating, he threw the man over him, and he heard a nasty gushing sound as the rubble cut through the man.

Tearing the trimmers from himself, The Prowler groaned as he felt the tissue inside shifting, some of it sticking to the trimmers with the sappy red blood and mangled, shredded flesh. He could see the man was already getting back up(little bitch wouldn't stop) and so he did the logical thing:he took the trimmers, and opened them wider. He plunged them into his legs, one trimmer blade going into each leg, pinning the man to the ground. The man didn't scream like The prowler wanted him to, however; his breathing simply got much louder. It annoyed The Prowler, who proceeded to kick the man in the mouth. He still didn't utter a simple squeal, and it drove The prowler to the point he realized there would be no pleasure in torturing the man. He was resilient, for sure, and what he needed was a quick pitchfork through the brain.

Unlatching the farm tool, he turned at a good angle, so it wouldn't miss the mans forehead, and plunged it forward. The man, on the other hand, simply flipped back, letting the pitchfork miss, before he ripped the trimmers from his legs, the blades making a disgusting squelching noise as they were ripped free from the legs.

_-POV change-_

If he was able to sneer at the masked man, Crospy would certainly do so. He couldn't cause of how messed up his face was, but nonetheless, he took the opportunity to make the man realize how much of a dumbass he was for thinking he didn't know how to take a pair of hedge trimmers out from his legs. The man just stared stupidly at him, his pitchfork lowered, and Cropsy took the opportunity to thrust the trimmers forward, and plunged them into the mans torso. Dropping the pitchfork, the man moved to clutch at the trimmers, yet Cropsy was muck quicker to realize what was going on and grabbed the handles of the shears. He closed the hedge trimmers in the mans torso, and for the first time, Cropsy heard the man scream. It sounded a lot like the trademark Wilhem Scream, and it actually seemed funny to Cropsy.

He tore the shears out, and the blood burst out like steam from a geyser, and the man screamed once more, this time less loudly. He fell to his knees as he gasped wretchedly, clutching hard at the huge, red, bloody gash upon his torso. He rasped, and Cropsy coughed, in his way of a smirk.

He kicked the man in the torso, which was only shielded by one hand, and the man collapsed. His hand flew from the wound, the blood continuing its flow, as the mans helmet fell from his head. He breathed heavily, as he raised the blood soaked trimmers, just a foot or two over the mans throat, as Cropsy braced his arms for the strength needed to plunge the shears with the decided amount of force.

_-POV change-_

The Miner heard the shrill, grating scream. He turned and stomped through the wreckage and debris, wondering who or what was screaming, and just who the hell was in his mines.

He picked up the nailgun, preparing for whatever was lurking in his territory. He pushed through the rubble from the explosion that led to Warden's insanity and the death of four other miners. He heard something under his boot, and saw an old, crumpled newspaper headline. It read: "Battle of Manhattan lost? _Jason Takes Manhattan _becomes lowest grossing film so far in the Friday the 13th franchise". He scraped it aside and continued on, toward the intruders in the upper shaft.

_**Sorry for the long wait, but I was broiled in other stories of mine. Now, for some mentions:**_

_**Swimming320:You wanted to know how the story would go in Valentine Bluffs, so I answered by introducing The Miner. The original, not the 3D remake one.**_

_**Hardrocker21:Now, just HY is it that Cropsy is seemingly invulnerable? Last chapter will reveal that.**_

_**R&R, and once you're done reading this chapter, here are some other stores of mine I think you fellow readers/fans should read and will enjoy:**_

_**Inheritance of the Slashers**_

_**Countdown To Extinction, second story in the Rise of Extinction series. Be sure to read the first story, The Extinct Ally, though, so you can understand what's going on.**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**I have been gone for a while, but I have two more currently ongoing stories, and then there is school. But hopefully, this chapter will pick up the slack, so with no more I can say, here is the second to last chapter of The Burning Of The Prowler, continuing from the fight at the end of the previous chapter...**_

The Burning Of The Prowler

Chapter 6

Cropsy took one final breath through his nostrils before he plunged the hedge trimmers down, right into the man's throat. He was so close, just a few inches away, when he felt two rapid stings in his left side. He fell off balance, crashing hard into a pile of fallen wood planks. He snorted as he felt a heavy boot come crashing down on his stomach, tearing the air from his lungs.

He opened his hazy eyes to see a rather tall, faceless man standing before him. It was a man-well, if it _was_ a man-unlike any he had seen before. His entire body was armored by heavy mining gear, while his head and face were hidden behind a mining mask with a dirt covered headlight, and only his dark eyes were visible, slightly blurred by the square, foggy goggles. His breath came out as deep and raspy, no doubt due to the pipe-like gas mask.

Cropsy didn't care as to who he was , though. The man had been asking for a fight, and he was going to get a brief one at that. Opening the trimmers again, he tried to thrust them up, so as to stab the man's groin, but the man, despite wearing light body armor, was surprisingly quick. He grabbed the trimmers and tore them out of Cropsy's hands, throwing them out of sight. He proceeded to unlatch a pickaxe from his back, and swung it down onto Cropsy's chest. Every last one of Cropsy's nerves exploded in protest, as the pickaxe shredded his ribs and several of his arteries into oblivion.

The man brought it down again, tearing the muscles and leaving them sticking to the pickaxe, which was now coated in blood, destroyed flesh, and shredded meat. Blood ran in streams from Cropsy's mouth and nostrils, and his head now throbbed as if though his brain was going to explode out of his skull.

He was not the least bit happier as he saw that man in army fatigues throw the man aside, and took the pickaxe for himself. His rage seethed, and then, just as quickly, it came to and end with one strike.

_-POV change-_

Raising the pickaxe high above his head, The Prowler savored the moment as he brought it down with all of the fury, all of the hate, and all of the absolute raw _strength_ down on the burnt man, the weapon going through the gushing open hole in the chest.

And it all ended with one noise.

_CCCCCRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAACCCCCKKKKKK_.

The pickaxe struck a bone, and not just any bone;it tore right into the top column of the man's spine, cutting it apart. The burnt man quit his wheezing, and two seconds later, his eyes went slack and the lids shut tight.

The Prowler realized that the man did not deserve to lie here, rotting;his ugliness would disgrace the mine, and it would be like a burial, something he shouldn't get. He picked up the corpse and turned around, walking to the crumbling steel wire ledge at the end of the corridor. Taking in the noise of the rushing muddy water, he dropped the man into the dirty stream, watching the body float all the way to the end, where he could no longer see it.

He heard a steady deep rasp behind him.

Spinning around, he saw the man in the mining gear. He was holding a long knife, and as he braced himself for another long fight, The Prowler realized the man-whoever he was-had never actually done anything to wrong him. He had just gotten himself involved.

Tossing the pickaxe toward him, the man miraculously caught the weapon and latched it back onto his back. The man turned around and left, the heavy _thump_ of his boots steadily growing fainter and fainter.

Going back into the area where he had killed the burnt man, The Prowler went through the hole that had been caused by the burnt man throwing him, before finally exiting the mines. Picking his way through the bushes, he got back into the taxi he had stolen and drove away. It was night, and he needed to hurry if he wanted to get out of Valentine Bluffs. As he sped off, he was sure he caught sight of that mining man in the trees. He slapped himself on the head, writing it off as his mind playing tricks on him.

_**And there ends chapter 6. Now, let me tell you, this is not the last chapter. There will be one more, an epilogue you could say. Once I'm done writing it, we'll finally get to find out just how Cropsy keeps cheating death...R&R, please. Like the chapter, hate it? Got ideas for the next chapter? Think there should be a sequel? Don't be afraid to tell me!**_


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